


Quintessence, or The Substance Behind the Perfect Coffee

by donutsweeper



Series: Ratiocination [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Barista!Sherlock, Gen, barista!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John visits his favorite coffee shop, Ratiocination, one evening and finds an unusual customer already there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quintessence, or The Substance Behind the Perfect Coffee

With all the chaos going on in his life, John hadn't made it to _Ratiocination_ for nearly a month but, determined not to let another month go by before seeing Sherlock again, he managed to make his way over there late one evening and was looking forward to a nice coffee and a few moments of peace and quiet.

Which, apparently, was not going to be found, because he pushed open the door to discover a customer arguing loudly with Sherlock. 

"Sherlock, I demand you prepare my drink the way I requested it. You are the barista, I am the customer, ergo it is the requirement of your position for you to _serve_ me." 

John was a little amazed by the use of 'ergo' let alone the fact the man was demanding anything in the first place (since if he was familiar enough with Sherlock to know his name than how could he not know how Sherlock reacted to demands) and studied him while Sherlock futzed about with his back to them both, wiping off an already pristine countertop instead of making whatever drink the man had requested. This customer was a bit different than the ones John usually saw here: tailored suit worth more than John's entire wardrobe, cultured and posh in the way most only dream of being, and, incredibly, completely unbowed by Sherlock's brusque attitude.

"I am waiting, Sherlock. Patiently." The man tapped his umbrella twice on the floor before flicking an imaginary piece of lint off his trousers. "And I will wait all night, if necessary."

"You have never been patient a day in entire your life, Mycroft!" Sherlock spun around, cleaning rag still clutched in his hand and shaken back and forth to emphasize each word before being dropped, almost sheepishly when Sherlock noticed John. "Oh, John. Hello."

"You're obviously, um, in the middle of something. I can come back," John said, reaching behind him for the door.

"No!" Sherlock shouted, before continuing in a normal tone. "The _gentleman_ was just leaving since he is well aware that decaffeinated coffee, which I do not serve and never would even consider serving, still contains a measurable quantity of caffeine, a substance which people who suffer from high blood pressure are discouraged from ingesting even trace amounts. You, John, however, are in obvious need of a flat white and have no malady preventing your consumption of such a beverage. Just give me a moment to prepare it."

The other customer turned and studied John carefully. "So this is your John. Youngest of two, mother deceased. Medical student. Rugby player. And you recently injured your knee in a game, I see. Unsurprising, considering your stature. I fail to see your what has piqued your interest, Sherlock, but then that is often the case."

"Oh, sod off, Mycroft." 

"Language, Sherlock." Mycroft gave John a terribly proper yet incredibly disturbing smile before leaning closer and saying, "Do forgive my brother, despite his upbringing he is somehow lacking all social graces. Until next time, Mr Watson." Then, with a final nod, he swept from the room before John could even hope to come up with any sort of response.

John stepped up to the counter and gestured over his shoulder. " _He's_ your brother?"

"I'm afraid so. A _truly_ unfortunate genetic occurrence, you understand."

"Yes." John cleared his throat. "Well."

"It was inordinately polite of you not to correct him on how you obtained your injury." Sherlock raised slightly his voice so he could be heard over the espresso machine. "Mycroft is always one to snap to conclusions. You are a rugby player, you are recovering from a sports injury so therefore you were injured playing rugby. A ridiculously short sighted interpretation of the facts presented to him, only a fool would make that sort of error."

"How did you," John started to ask before shaking his head. "You know never mind. You're right, I didn't hurt myself playing rugby. Never should have tried to make a go at American Football, what a rubbish game that is." 

"Is it now, how so?" Sherlock asked, gesturing for John to sit before he brought over John's drink. "Explain it to me as I prepare the café for closing."

"Oh, it's just so ridiculous." John paused to take a long sip. "Oh, ta for this, really hits the spot. So, as I was saying," he began, relishing the chance for a good rant; coming to _Ratiocination_ tonight had certainly been just what he needed. "There are so many rules the game is stopped nearly every other minute."


End file.
